


Recovery

by Higgystar



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is still recovering when the world goes to shit. He just wishes he would get better faster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

Daryl has always liked the outdoors. When he was younger it was his escape from the chaos that was his home life. Over the years he’d learnt how to live in the woods and how to fit in out there. The natural world wasn’t something that you could bend to your will and control, it was something wild and free, and all humans could do was adapt to it. So he does, he learns to hunt, he learns to be quiet and it becomes his sanctuary. The woodland out the back of his house becomes more his home than the old shack he slept in ever was.

Now there were walkers all over the world and nowhere was safe anymore. Even his precious woodland has become saturated with the undead roaming between the trees, destroying the peace and quiet that he’d always enjoyed. Nowadays he couldn’t just take a walk out into the trees when he felt stressed or when he needed the calm and controlled energy of a hunt to ease his mind. It felt like everywhere was out of bounds now, and he had to be constantly alert for any danger.

It helped to have Merle there buy his side to give him some comfort, but he knows that this is all getting to his brother and pushing him to his limits. Not only were they now having to live in a group of strangers to survive, but it feels like every last bit of stress from the past couple of years of their life can be seen on his brother’s face. Merle is reaching his limit and Daryl only wished he had the ability to give him some peace of mind, even if only for a few days.

He knows that his brother needs some time to himself every so often. Neither of them have ever been so good in groups, but they’re trying and Daryl has to give Merle points for that. Still they need to pull their weight, and the camp can only survive so long on tinned food and mushrooms found nearby. He knows he needs to go out hunting, and Merle would definitely enjoy having time to himself without having Daryl always in his space. It would work well for the both of them and he knew everybody would appreciate the fresh meat, especially if he could bag a deer.

Checking over his crossbow it feels like being reunited with a part of himself. This past year he’s had it with him sure, it’s always been nearby, but not being able to handle it had been hard. He knows it wasn’t his fault, but now, getting to actually hold his bow and knowing that he was going to get to use it again was a little exciting. He’s so absorbed in checking over his arrows and making sure his knife was ready and sharp in it’s sheathe, that he barely notices Merle talking to him until his brother is nudging his side.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

Giving a loose shrug, Daryl can’t really meet his brother’s eyes when Merle is looking at him like that. It makes him feel guilty and he’s not even doing anything wrong. It wasn’t like he’d been trying to sneak out unnoticed. “Was just gonna go out on a hunt is all. It’s been a while, and we could use the meat.” He points out, hooking his foot into the catch of his crossbow before tugging the string back. Or at least he tries to, but it’s a lot tougher than he remembers, and he can feel the strain as he finally manages to find the strength to get it to catch.

It leaves him panting, hunched over as he tries to catch his breath. Daryl can’t believe just how pathetic he feels, his arms are already aching, and it’s only now when he tries to continue with things he enjoyed in his life before that he can really notice the muscle loss he’s suffered. Leaving his crossbow leaning against his leg he can’t help but run his fingers over his arms, able to feel the loss of muscle definition and really see just how different he was now.

“Daryl…” His brother sighs out his name, and Daryl can’t help but be annoyed by the sound. “You ain’t ready for this.” Merle tells him and God he hates when Merle uses that tone of voice with him. Before everything had happened Merle didn’t do gentle or kind, Merle was the kind of guy that when he spoke you made sure you listened. Now though, he spoke too quietly, too fucking softly and it sometimes didn’t sound like Merle at all.

Shaking his head he fucking hates this and he can barely look at his brother when he leans to snatch up his bow and it already feels heavy and awkward in his grip. “I’m fine Merle. It’s been…it’s been what four months now?” He asks, giving a loose shrug and trying to remember how it felt to have the bow settle easily into his palms. Right now it’s a little odd, heavy, almost like the past year has made him forget how to even hold it.

“Three months.” Merle tells him and Daryl has to look up at that.

It didn’t feel like three months. It felt like a lot longer since he’d been told the good news. Maybe it was just the walkers making it feel longer, the virus had broken out only a month after he’d been given the all clear. A lot had happened in such a short time, it all seemed to just blur into one big mess.

Still it didn’t matter, it had been long enough. “Three, four, whatever. I’m fine now. I got this.” He tells his brother, snatching up a couple more arrows and double checking on his knife. They didn’t have time for him to sit about on his ass and do nothing, he’d had plenty of time to recover surely. “I can do this.”

Merle sneers at him a little and then his brother is reaching out to shove at him. Daryl can remember a time when he’d have fought back. A couple of years ago he’d have barely felt it, he and Merle scrapped all the time and he grew up with this rough and tumble behaviour. But now, even if he didn’t want to admit it, things were different.

The shove hurts, it hurts to the point that he can feel where Merle’s fingers have dug in for a second even after his brother has pulled away. It feels like he’s going to bruise already and he’s rubbing at the spot on his arm as he shifts a little away from Merle. “The hell was that for?” He snarls, and not a second after Merle is shoving at him again, this time at his shoulder.

“Come on then baby brother. If you’re so tough then prove it.” Merle snaps, shoving again, and again, getting into Daryl’s space and crowding him easily. It hurts, each poke and prod at his chest feels like a punch and Daryl can feel himself flinching back after not too long. “Show me you can handle yourself boy.” Merle baits, his voice low and dangerous as he continues shoving at him, pushing with both hands now and Daryl can’t do much to defend himself.

He tries; of course he does, setting the crossbow aside to really give it all he’s got. But it feels like every smack he gives back to his brother is nothing more than a swat, Merle barely even notices them at all and the hits keep coming. Not once do either of them throw a punch, it’s all open palmed smacks and shoves, but it’s not long before Daryl is feeling out of breath. But there’s no chance for him to get away, Merle continues hitting him, crowding in on him until he’s panting for air and before long his smacks back at his brother end up in him grabbing at Merle’s shirt. He can feel his body begin to cave in, he’s panting, his arms are shaking a little and it’s not long before he’s hunched over and leaning into Merle’s body for strength.

“Dammit Merle.” Daryl manages to hiss out between grit teeth, leaning his forehead against Merle’s collarbone as he tries to steady himself. He aches all over, his arms are shaking a little, his body trembling and he feels exhausted. It’s pathetic, he’s a grown man and he can’t even fend off his own brother in a play fight. “The hell you do that for?”

A hand is placed on his shoulder and Merle is steering them both to sit in the crappy camp chairs beside their tent. Daryl is still aching as he slumps down, letting Merle grab the crossbow from where it lies to place it beside him. He feels like a traitor, like he’s let himself down by being so damned pathetic. Hunching in over himself he ignores his brother, not quite able to look at him when he can feel his body aching all over like he’s one massive bruise.

“Because you needed some sense knocked into you boy.” Merle tells him, settling into the seat next to him with a laboured sigh. “You think a walker would have stopped when you started crumbling like that? Hell no. You go out there on your own and you’d have your ass bit in seconds.” His brother huffs and Daryl feels like nothing more than a damned child. “Doing it so you see you ain’t ready yet.”

It hurts. He’s been able to fend for himself for most of his life, and now it feels like he’s taken a huge step backwards. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to do his part and help out. He wants to go hunting again, he wants to feed the group and help defend them against the walkers out there. But his fucking body doesn’t want to listen.

Already he can feel the bruises starting over his skin, the pale complexion he’s gained since being ill doing nothing to hide them from the world. Looking down at himself he can see the stark differences that have happened to his body over the past couple of years. The muscle tone was the worst, he’s weaker than ever, his arms, his legs, they feel skinny now instead of toned. He’s pale as hell, sickly pale, and he’s been hidden away from the Georgia sun for long enough to not be able to regain that usual tan he’d always had before.

He hates this. It feels like he’s barely Daryl Dixon anymore, he’s someone else, someone who was unable to do all the things that he used to do before all of this had happened. Hunching over himself he rests his head in his hands, feeling the aches all over his body and the way even just sitting here makes his back hurt. He feels like an old man, or worse, like a kid.

“I want to be ready Merle.” Daryl ends up muttering, giving a small sigh as it overwhelms him all over again.

“Daryl you had cancer.” Merle tells him and there’s that word that he fucking hated. The word that had changed both of their lives so drastically a couple of years ago. “That’s not somethin’ that you just get better from in a couple of months.” He points out, but it still feels like nothing more than an excuse.

“Had Merle. I _had_ cancer.” Daryl clarifies, sitting back in his chair and letting a hand rest on bicep, covering the still obvious scar from where he’s had his line in for the chemotherapy. It had been so long ago since he’d had the blood tests and been told about it all. Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Blood cancer. His own body was trying to kill itself and they had to treat it with aggressive chemotherapy. Ignoring the memories he sighs a little. “I’m clear. Been clear for months now and it still feels like I’m sick.”

He still feels weak. He still feels like he had during the worst of it. But then Merle reaches over, places a hand to his shoulder and he remembers exactly where Merle was through it all. Beside him.

Usually his brother only stuck around for a while before running off again. But the second Daryl had called him, as soon as the word cancer had fallen from his lips; Merle had moved back to be with him. And he’d never left.

Every new dose of chemotherapy, Merle had been there with him. Sitting beside his hospital bed in one of the shitty plastic chairs and trying to keep his mind off being injected with the crappy stuff. It had been the weirdest experience. He remembers feeling it enter his body, like a cold shiver passing through him as he’d sat there and waited. It wasn’t like a shot and he was done. Chemotherapy was basically poison and had to be introduced into his system slowly.

But Merle had been there with him. Telling him shitty ass jokes, watching the game on the crappy hospital TV and keeping his mind off the stuff making him feel awful. Merle had been there to help hold the bowl when he’d been too weak to do it when puking everything he’d eaten that day. His brother had let him scream and shout about how the world was so fucking unfair and pretty much been his carer on the days where even getting out of bed was too difficult for him.

It had been rough, but they’d gotten through it, the pair of them. Merle had been beside him and not laughed when his hair had started falling out in huge chunks. Instead his brother had got the clippers and on his agreement, had pretty much shaved the remaining hair off for him. When Merle had turned them on himself and shaved his own head Daryl had been surprised, and then laughed at how they were both going to need hats for the winter. It had helped to have Merle by his side the whole time.

Things was they were now pas that, he was clear now, cancer free and technically healthy. His hair had grown back in, lighter in colour and finer than before, heck he even had eyelashes again now, but things were never the same as they’d been before. He was different now, and it felt awful to not be able to step back into his old life as easily as he’d assumed he’d be able to.

Yet Merle was still here beside him.

“I know it sucks Daryl. I can’t even imagine how you feel, but you got to know that it’s all right to not be one hundred percent yet. It’s gonna take time bro.” Merle tells him, patting at his shoulder lightly before sitting back to watch over him.

Sighing a little he ends up slumped in his chair, kicking at their small fire pit and feeling like nothing more than a useless idiot that couldn’t contribute to the group. “Feel like it’s taken enough time of my life Merle.” He admits, and really they didn’t have time for him to get better gradually. The world wasn’t waiting for anybody anymore and he didn’t want to get left behind.

“I know. But you’re still underweight, you’re still getting the nausea and headaches and shit.” Merle points out, stretching before reaching for his own knife and a loose stick to begin sharpening into a stake. “Your doc said you’re free of cancer sure, but it ain’t like flipping a switch. Your body’s got to catch up to your head.”

He knows that, Daryl really does, but it still sucks. It still makes him feel damned useless and like he should be doing more, or at least able to try. But his body wasn’t quite ready yet it seems, and he hates that it’s holding him back when he needed to rely on it. Sighing a little he fidgets, toying with his own knife between his fingers and letting the blade open and close idly.

Merle nudges at his side with a stick, tossing it onto his lap with a nod. “Buck up Daryl. Sure you ain’t got the strength to go out and catch us a buck for dinner, but you can still help you brother set us up a few traps. Rabbit stew sounds pretty damned good to me.”

He snorts out a small laugh at that, twisting the stick between his fingers before copying his brother and beginning to sharpen it at one end. Sure maybe he couldn’t find the physical strength to do much more around camp than make traps, but it was something at least. Merle was right; he was still in recovery, even if he didn’t want to be. Maybe other people wouldn’t understand, maybe they’d claim he was a lazy ass, but they didn’t understand the shit he’d been through.

Heck, the world wasn’t going to wait for him to get better, maybe it was going to take more time than he was going to be given. But no matter what shit the world was going to throw at him, at least he knew one thing for certain.

Merle was still going to be there beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My mother went through bowel cancer 10 years ago and my best friend had Hodgkin's Lymphoma 5 years ago, they're both in remission and doing well. Cancer is fucking awful, if this fic has upset anyone and you wish to talk then you can contact me through here on on tumblr if you want to, I'm more than willing to listen. I haven't had cancer myself, but I've been effected by it and am willing to help if I can.


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